


Dirt

by Resistance



Category: Country Music RPF
Genre: Florida Georgia Line - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resistance/pseuds/Resistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in early July 2014, in the recording studio. Tyler is red, Brian is black.</p><p>(I'm posting this as a test, feel free not to read it. And if you do, read the notes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> The style may take some getting used to. It's written as a dialogue, so the focus is the spoken word not the prose. The rest is incidental, and only there to give a vague picture, complete sentences aren't always used. I wrote one half of the dialogue and my (AO3-less) friend wrote the other, so the tones are different and hopefully reflect the person speaking.

Stands, walking over to the booth, opening the door, watching Brian.

He's focused on getting the vocals for the song right, but when he hears the door open, he can't stop from looking over, a little startled. Its been while since someone has just walked in while he's practicing. Locks eyes with Tyler, surprised.

Runs a hand through his own hair, “They tell me you're sick.”

“They do?” Even more surprised, but he shakes his head. “I'm fine. Just a little tired.”

“When we started datin', your friend Greg called me. He told me what to look for. It was a while ago, but it's not like I forgot the signs.”

Frowns, but he looks away, clenching his jaw a little. “Signs of what?”

“Don't insult me.”

Swallows. “I'm not. I just... Look... I got this under control, okay? Don't worry, its not gonna affect our music or the CD. I wouldn't do that.”

“It already effects our music. You sound like crap and you look worse. You're not singin' that verse if you cain't do it.”

Snaps his head up.”I can do it. I can. Its not like I'm using all the time, Its just... taking the edge off some. I can do this, Tyler. I can sing the verse.”

“You're high right now.”

“I... I'm coming down. I'll be fine by the time we record.”

“We ain't recordin' today. I'm gonna send the boys home.” Grabs the lyrics sheets and holds them out to him, “Read the words, Brian. Read the damn words. You think you're gonna record _this_ high? I won't let you. You won't fuck _this_ up. You know what this is. I know what this is. But more than that, _this_ is my dad. You won't disrespect him like that.” Throws the papers at him, “Read it.” Turns to walk out.

“Ty... Tyler, _wait_...” Croaks out, picking the papers up.”I'm sorry. I...”

“You're sorry. Yeah, that'll do it.” Turns back to look at him, “If you wanna kill yourself, Brian, do it quicker than this.”

Flinches at that, but he pushes past that, stepping toward. “I wasn't gonna fuck this up, I won't fuck this song up. I know what it is, and I... I don't wanna kill myself.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Ty...”

“What?”

“I fucked up.”

“There's news.”

“Don't take this song, please. I... I need to sing this one.”

“Prove it.”

“I... I can do that. I can. I'll show you.”

“Listen, you come near me high or strung out, I'll go solo so fast your head will spin.”

Looks up at him at that, eyes wide, and he's holding back tears. “Don't. I won't. Just... don't. Please.”

“You already threw our relationship away, don't throw the band away too. The guys will come with me an' you know they will. And I won't hold back why. Think about that the next time you hold a pill in your hand.”

“You think I wanna go solo? I fuckin don't. I know I fucked everything up, they ain't my band, they ain't even my friends anymore, and I know that. I know its my fault. “ Wipes at his face. “And that's why I fuckin' get high, Tyler. Because at least when I do that, I can fuckin go...” Lets out a long breath. “Dirt.”

“Do you imagine that picket fence? It's hard to put one around a _treehouse_.”

“I imagine it all. Every damn bit of it. Everything in that song, I see it and I'm there and I can feel it and smell it.. I don't want a fuckin' treehouse, Tyler.”

“That house? With the fence. How many bedrooms in that house?”

Softly. “Three. Ours. And two boys, and maybe... maybe one for a girl.”

“And the backyard? The baseball in the backyard?”

“And there's a barn too, a smaller one, with a couple of stray cats we took in, and its all there, and you... you're there.

“Me? No, can't be. No one's _gay_ in their dreams, right? Picket fences and three kids and cats, that's for good straight people. Who have their parents---”

“Stop. Just...” Slides his hands over his head, hands shaking. “You're there with me. You and our kids.”

He's fighting the tears, “I woulda given you the picket fence, Brian. Because I _always_ knew you wanted it. And a chance to be a parent that _cares._ I woulda given you that.” Turns away, wiping his eyes.

He is crying, and he can't fight it. “I wish... I'd give this all up... I just... I want that. With you—”

Turns on him, abruptly grabbing his arm, yanking his sleeve up, “No. You have _her_. Look at _her_ , Brian. You think she'll give you that? You picked her, and do you think you'll get that? Let me answer for you. No. You won't. So I gave you this damn song, 'cause that's as close as you'll get to it.”

Starts to pull away, shaking his head, but as his last words hit him, a part of him crumbles. “I know. You think I don't know? That's why I do this, cause it... I don't want her. I don't want this. I want that house. I want those kids. I want _you._ ” Wipes at his face again, but it doesn't help very much.

Holds those lyrics sheets up again, “ _This_ is where I came from. _This_ is real to me. It's a dream to you, but it's real to me. I want this. You know that. I've wanted this much longer than I've wanted you. For you, the only want you can have _this_ is with me, that's the only way you know it. I can have it any way, with anyone. Because this is _me_. You get that?”

His shoulders slump, any fight going out of him. “I know. I know. I get it. I get it. I Just...”

“No, you don't. What did I tell you 'bout this song? I _gave_ it to you. I wanted _you_ to sing that whole damn verse.” Even if he's crying, his eyes are locked on Brian.

Goes still for a moment, before he raises his head, looking up at him, eyes locking with his, he's crying just as much. “Ty...You... Are you...”

“No. Not yet. It's here. But there's a condition if you're gonna take it.”

“Name it.”

“She knows everything.”

A breath, but he nods. “I swear. I swear on everything.”

“What's that supposed to mean to me? You swore you loved me. You sword you'd marry me. You swore you'd be faithful to me. We see how well that worked.”

“I do love you! I've always loved you, from the minute I walked in that damn music house, and you were hanging upside down, I loved you.”

Pulls Brian's sleeve up again.

“I'll get rid of it! I'll hide it!” Holds his other arm up to show 'Music=Healing'. “I got this first, and I still mean it.”

“The palm tree is ugly.”

Makes a face at him at that. “I maybe shoulda thought that one out a bit more.”

“You can have this after you tell her everything.” Holds up the lyrics sheets.

“I'll go... I'll go tell her now. Right now.”

“And then we'll see what happens.”

Nods his head. “I'll take whatever I can get.”

“What changed? When I demanded this before, you said no.”

“Dirt. I keep going to it. To you. And she... I'm nothin' to her. Just a trophy. She don't care if I get high or I sound like crap or if I killed myself tomorrow. She don't. I'm just a trophy.”

“The first time I read that song, I thought of my dad. The second time I read it, I cried. Because you would never have that.”

Softly. “I got... I got dreams though. And whatever.... whatever little bit I get of you. If I do. That's closer than I'll ever be. Its more that I deserve.” 

“Yeah, it is. 'Cause you picked easy over _love_. This damn song coulda been called _love_ instead of _dirt_.”

Shrinks in on himself even more,but he looks up, speaking softly. “Maybe, one day...” 

“Pray for it.”

“I'll pray harder.” 

“Come to services with me on Sunday.”

“I will.” 

“Go home.”

“That ain't home.” 

“Go climb your damn tree.”

Nods, dropping his head and pulling away.”Thank you.” 

Tosses the lyric sheets on the table before turning to walk out of the booth.

Watches him go, fighting a new wave of tears as he heads out himself, heading for the garage. 

Stops in the bathroom to splash water on his face, calming down, before going back out into the lobby.


End file.
